


Breaking Curses

by notthelasttime



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (so background idek if I should tag them or not), Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Falling In Love, Marriage of Convenience, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Werewolves, bastardized canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27074824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthelasttime/pseuds/notthelasttime
Summary: Marianne is pretty as she is gentle, but Dimitri has never been good with delicate things; he tends to break them beyond repair.But if what she wants is a quiet life, at odds with her father's own ambitions then Dimitri can offer that to her. He can offer protection through his hand, he can stop the ever present reminders from his advisors that he ought to get married himself, and save the headache of a bride clutching at him for power when all Dimitri wants is peace. It may not be love, but it’s better than throwing Marianne to the hungry pack of wolves that called themselves Nobles. And it’s better than suffering them himself.She need not know the kind of monster Dimitri truly is.He does not consider that she might have a monster of her own.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund
Comments: 14
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi i'm new here  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Once upon a time in the far away land of Fódlan, there lived a Prince. 

And if there is one thing known about Princes, from north of Sreng to the Islands of Brigid, it is that they should be paragons of virtue and justice. True to their people, kind at heart, and if all else fail, honorable and skilled at battle. Willing to do what they must for their people.

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd was a Prince. One day set to rule the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and carrying the weight with him since the day he began to realize what that meant. 

Dimitri was none of the things a Prince should be.

He had known it a long time, from his youth and the first blackened memories there, always present so much as he tried to drown them. He had known when he was named King, years later and no small amount of self flagellation, no penance would erase his many faults. He would have stayed in exile, if he could. But the problem with Princes were they were chosen beyond anyone’s control. By birth and blood, by the whims of the Goddess and by fate and Dimitri could no more deny his path in life that the sun could stop itself from rising and falling across the sky. 

But Dimitri was no Prince. He was even less of a King. 

He was undoubtedly, irrevocably, and utterly unchangeably, a monster.

* * *

“The farmers are complaining about their superstitions again, and this time the townsfolk are joining in.”

Felix passed along news from corners of the Kingdom with little interest and a sliver of disdain. He was one of Dimitri’s advisors - because Dimitri needed him. Because Dimitri only wanted people he could trust beyond a shadow of a doubt and that he knew would always tell him the truth, but that never stopped Felix from showing irritation at what he deemed trivial matters. Not of importance to the Crown. But Dimitri didn’t have the luxury of brushing off anyone’s concerns. 

“If your cattle started showing up dead overnight, you might be a little concerned yourself,” Sylvain added his opinion in the absent way he usually did. But for all the informal speech and casual dismissal of anything even encroaching on seriousness, Sylvain had a mind for all the politics and peacekeeping. He wasn’t nearly as useless as he liked to pretend and sometimes, he was the only one that could get Felix to lighten up when he dug his heels in.

“It’s not our problem that a bunch of farmers can’t hunt down the wolves that are causing so much trouble themselves,” Felix replied, stubborn as ever. They were in Dimitri’s office, running down a list of complaints and petitions, nothing so important as to hold a full council meeting, and yet, nothing Dimitri wanted to deal with on his own. 

Most days it felt like there were very, very few things he _could_ deal with on his own.

The burdens of running a kingdom were tedious. Not noble, not glorious. Just trying to untangle the web of messes that Fódlan had become after years of war.

Dimitri sighed. 

“Send a hunting party out into the woods. Kingdom knights, so they know we’re taking the threat seriously. With any luck they can sniff out the wolf’s den and put an end to the wild speculation and superstitions about the forest.”

He heard Felix scoff, but he gave no other complaints, as for all of his opinions and unbending nature, even Felix knew when certain things were necessary, no matter how much he may have personally disagreed. 

“What next?” Dimitri asked, and in return Sylvain groaned.

“ _Nothing_ next,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “we’ve been at it for hours.”

“Margrave Edmund’s in town for the Saint Macuil celebration. I figured that would have caught your attention.” Felix again, a little edgy, and a little teasing, but Dimitri couldn’t fathom why.

“Why would I care?” Sylvain asked him, “Unless you’re hoping I’ll knock his teeth out this time around when he starts sniffing around for power. Sorry Felix, unlike you some of us actually know how to use tact instead of immediately resorting to violence.”

“Word is he brought his daughter.”

“ _Well_ now,” Sylvain said, suddenly all attentive, “that changes things. _Word is_ she doesn’t get out much.” A sly smile grew on his face, a little too devious for Dimitri’s liking when Sylvain turned in his direction, Felix following suit. “But I think you’re talking to the wrong guy.”

They both stared at him. Dimitri frowned. 

“What?”

Sylvain laughed, got up from his chair and circled around Dimitri’s office, stretching his arms as he did. “You know every lord and lady from here to Enbarr thinks you’re holding these events to look for a wife.”

Dimitri, still dumbfounded, said again, “ _What?_ ”

“Why do you think every noble spends the evenings tripping over themselves to get you to dance with their daughters?” Felix asked him, unbelieving, in that understated way he had that said _I can’t believe you’re serious_.

“I… because I…” _Because I am King_ , Dimitri thought. If he had once been handsome, the war and his subsequent years spent in exile had robbed him of that, and he had no illusions about his personality. Goddess knew no one was dancing with him because of his personality. Somewhere along the years he’d lost the knack for small talk and pleasant conversation, all those refined Princely habits crushed out of him along with any innocence he might have had. Dimitri had always assumed it was the honor of a dance with the King, and he had taken it upon himself to be polite, to show respect to those he was governing. A dance was the least he could do. But this… this explained a lot.

“You _do_ realize you’ll have to get married at some point,” Felix said, bordering on exasperated as if he himself didn’t always choose to spit in the face of chivalry and what was expected of his position. Getting a lecture on marriage from Felix was the last thing Dimitri had expected this day to entail. 

“I… suppose I never gave it much thought,” Dimitri answered honestly, while Sylvain laughed and Felix huffed. 

“Well I guess you’re thinking about it now,” Sylvain said, and with that, much to Dimitri’s relief, the conversation came to an end.

* * *

Marriage.

The word was foreign in his head and on his tongue.

 _Marriage_.

Dimitri was not what one would consider a good choice for a husband.

It wasn’t just that his devotion was to his country and his people, first and foremost. That he spent long hours working, stuck behind a desk or dealing with meetings and settling disputes one after another, day in and day out. He would always be distracted. He could never show a partner true and undivided attention when he had a nation to run and citizens to care for, and a stack of a thousand things that could go wrong, all of it only growing by the hour. And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

He was moody. Prone to dark days and silent, sleepless nights, much as he tried to keep his temper and his gloom to himself. There were days he did not wish to speak or be spoken to. There were thoughts that crept back into his head sometimes, memories and desires of a violent, ruthless past. Maybe, by some blessing, he could find a bride that knew little enough of his dark history and bloody hands that she wouldn’t be frightened of him, but how long could that last? It wasn’t something he could hide, when the visceral truth was a part of him and his every decision, when it took every ounce of self control to fight so many disturbing thoughts from his head when everything got too loud. It colored how everyone else treated him.

Dimitri knew he was not handsome. Not with the scars on his body and his face. His eyes, maybe, clear blue and bright, might have been attractive once, but now, with one gouged out of his skull thanks to his madness, a single, remaining eye next to a scarred pit was nothing less than unsettling. 

There were days he couldn’t stand to look at himself.

There were nights, when things got bad, when he couldn’t calm down, when the whispers started again. When the voices of the dead starting telling him- started _changing_ him-

 _No_ , but he could control that part of himself. He could hide it. He must.

A beast. Nothing more, nothing less, no matter how many titles or were placed on his name, whether he lived in the Castle or on the streets, no matter how many fine clothes he wore. 

A monster. But not a husband. 

He had duties and responsibilities, but no matter the expectations and societal pressure put on him, Dimitri could not subject someone else to his true nature, and that awful piece of him he was so careful to keep hidden. 

* * *

In the week before Saint Macuil Day, guests from far and wide began to arrive. 

Ingrid was quick in coming back to the Palace, her Pegasus Knights in tow, back after keeping the peace in the west where there had been disputes over territory. Along with her was Mercedes, which came as more of a surprise than it should have; Dimitri knew they were close despite their many superficial differences, and Ingrid never passed on a chance to serve as escort and protect for those she cared about. Dimitri was first hand proof of that. His bravest knight. One of his oldest friends.

Ashe arrived soon after, cheeks pink from the wind and hair slightly mussed, like he’d rode to the castle in a hurry. Dedue didn’t say much, but then again Dedue never said much of anything in terms of his own feelings, but Dimitri couldn’t help but notice that he came out to meet Ashe by the stables. A gesture reserved for few and far between. 

Annette brought with her a flurry of noise and laughter as she always did; speaking loud, moving too fast, and rushing to say hello to everyone already arrived. By that time the castle was filling up, not just with old friends but the important Nobles that duty dictated be invited. Dimitri didn’t mind as much as he anticipated when planning the event, even while proceeding to dread it. His moods, so often sullen and exhausted when he was faced with too many people, had instead been… stable. Content. Perhaps the gloom of the Faerghus winter had taken more of a toll than anticipated. And it was indeed nice to see old friends in times of peace instead of war.

By the time everyone arrived the guest rooms had been aired out and opened for use, the well oiled machine that was his staff rising up to the challenge impeccably. The halls still smelled of the polish used on the floors, early spring flowers filled vases in every corner, and all were duly impressed. Or, if they were not, they were at least reverent enough in Dimitri’s presence to keep that fact to themselves. He never knew what was the truth and what was respect for the King, and what was fear of the bloodstains he dragged around behind him, at all times.

Those thoughts were dark.

And Dimitri had made a promise to himself (and to Sylvain. Mostly to Sylvain), that he would meet this celebration with the best of intentions. And to maybe even try and relax.

The morning of Saint Macuil day was washed in crisp and clear skies, a touch of a chill, and the promise that the spring sun would soon warm the land and burn away the lingering fog and dew. 

Late morning would bring a ceremony in the castle’s small and personal cathedral by the gardens, old but well maintained, even with an overgrowth of ivy. Early afternoon was open time on the grounds, time for Dimitri to catch up with his old friends, to plaster a smile to his face and pretend to be normal for a while. So much as he missed everyone, days like this, and the lack of solitary time with them, always tended to take their toll. 

At night was the ball. So much as Dimitri had attempted to stop anything so grand, but the guest list grew and the invitations were sent and Sylvain kept reminding him about how important these things were. Not just to bring back some sense of normalcy after the war, but to remind everyone they could sit and drink and laugh and dance all together in the same room, from territories across all of Fódlan. That they need not be at each other’s throats. 

He had a point. Unfortunately. And as much as he might prefer to spend his nights alone, Dimitri was never one to shirk duty, or deny what was best when it came to those he was supposed to rule, and sometimes rule came by setting the best example he could.

Dimitri liked to think he held a healthy amount of respect for the Goddess but that alone never made time in a cathedral more comfortable for him. Too many idle thoughts of guilt and questions of forgiveness and whether or not he was worthy of it took away from any spirituality he might feel. On occasions like this he was thankful that propriety dictate he stand in the front of the congregation as the singing began, because tall as he was, a view of the back of his head and shoulders wouldn’t betray the pained look on his face. A pious tilt of the head and enough hair fell over his expression so that even Annette next to him wouldn’t have to see. She sang clear and true, and that was nice, at least, even as Dimitri barely whispered along. And soon enough their morning tribute was over anyway. A brief formality to give thanks to the Goddess, but everyone knew that wasn’t the point of the crowds gathered at the Palace. 

Sometimes, in life and in diplomacy, it was as necessary to call for order in a meeting as it was to hold a ball.

Unfortunately.

* * *

Dimitri supposed he would never get used to the underhanded power plays. The boot licking, the fake niceties, the promises that always came with strings attached. He was a straightforward man to a fault sometimes, as Felix in particular liked to remind him.

But Felix was at the other end of the garden, otherwise occupied. A glass of wine in his hand and by his elbow a tiny wisp of a girl doing a commendable job of hiding her discomfort, though Dimitri could see the way her eyes darted from one guest to the next. A weary, wild animal, hiding in the tall grass. Or rather, hiding by Felix and his blunt tongue. 

Bernadetta Von Varley then, Dimitri guessed, connecting the dots from her appearance to Felix’s tight-lipped and infrequent mentions of her. Dimitri had known him a long time, and while Felix could be hard to read, he was not impossible for those that knew him well enough. Behind the exasperation for the flighty girl that was surprisingly sharp with a bow and arrow, there was the smallest hint of fondness. Not that Felix would ever admit to it.

Dimitri thought to introduce himself, much as that would have grated on Felix’s nerves, for the boar to butt in and risk scaring Bernadetta away. But as always when moments like this arose, politeness was to take priority over personal wants, as happened when a Nobleman situated himself directly in front of Dimitri’s path.

“Your Majesty,” he said with flourish and a bow, “such a rare pleasure to see you step away from your work. And what a wonderful gathering you’ve put together for Saint Macuil day. I look forward to enjoying the festivities through the evening.”

“Margrave Edmund,” Dimitri said, drawing all the enthusiasm to his voice that he could muster, which wasn’t much. “Very good to see you here.”

Dislike was a strong word. It was not that Dimitri _disliked_ the Margrave when he had always been formally polite. Serious, even, which was something Dimitri had been accused of being himself, and by all means tended to appreciate in others. There was a sense then, that the Margrave was always hiding something. Thinking three spaces ahead. Not of betrayal- Dimitri did not suspect anything so nefarious, only that Margrave Edmund was driven and with a high enough opinion of himself that he sought to work his way as close to the top as he could drag himself and his family name.

“Oh, how rude of me,” the Margrave said, not sounding particularly apologetic, “please allow me to introduce my daughter, Marianne.”

Dimitri started. Only for a moment and only before he could compose himself and school his surprise into something neutral. For he had not even noticed the young lady standing there so quietly beside her father, with her head looking down at her shoes. It was unlike Dimitri to miss something like this, whether on his blind side or not, and he felt it was his need to make the apology. So swept up in the Margrave and his false flattery, that Dimitri had neglected to even greet a Lady.

“A pleasure, my Lady,” Dimitri said, and offered her a deep bow, sincere, and he hoped it conveyed his apologies for not having noticed her.

“The pleasure is mine,” her voice sounded oddly breathless. Hesitant. Careful.

Still looking down, Marianne gave a bow in return. Her hair, carefully braided and twisted back shone in the sun. Pale like her skin, stark against the dark blue dress she wore. Modest, but pretty and embellished with ivory lace and delicate stitching. 

And then she glanced up. 

Their eyes met for seconds. Hers, wide and a warm shade of grey, so impossible to read. All Dimitri knew was that she looked melancholy in a way he couldn’t understand. He had to wonder what kind of sadness could possess a girl so pretty.

“My dearest Marianne has been looking to marry. Such a shame she is so shy when she would make such a wonderful wife.”

Marianne’s eyes snapped back down to the ground and Dimitri revised his feelings. Perhaps _dislike_ was not such a strong word for the Margrave after all.

“Your Majesty, a word please.”

Ingrid was suddenly standing next to him, seemingly having sprung there from thin air. Even in the gardens at a celebration, she was in light armor, a short sword at her waist. With flowers in her hair. The odd juxtaposition that had always worked so well in her favor. Strong and soft. Kind and blunt. Forgiving and merciless. 

Her tone hinged on tense, but as far as Dimitri could tell from her demeanor it was not an emergency. Only something that had the misfortune of requiring his immediate attention. Dimitri excused himself, half glad to escape from the noise and the endless talk, and yet…

Half reluctant to go. 

If only because he was stranding Marianne there, in that crowd of strangers, with her father already speaking to the next, offering her around like a roast chicken on a platter, whatever subtlety he thought he was using.. Dimitri spared her a glance, once final look at the quiet girl in the conservative dress, but she was too busy looking back down at her feet to notice. 

“I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_ ,” Ingrid was apologizing as soon as they walked indoors. The castle halls were dark and empty compared with the lively greenery of the gardens, and Dimitri blinked and let his eye adjust as he waved her apologies aside. 

“It's no matter,” he said, feeling more grateful from the break from his guests than he would have liked to admit. “Is everything alright?”

Ingrid sighed. “More or less, but I still thought you’d want to handle this yourself.”

“Handle what?” Dimitri asked her, brows drawing together.

“Some of the farmers from nearby decided to come up here directly. I suppose they weren’t thrilled with the handling of things so far.” Dimitri looked at her, still confused and not quite grasping what this was all about. “More cattle were killed last night.”

Ah, then that rabid pack of wolves was still out and about causing trouble for anyone near the forest. Yes, he would want to handle this himself because _yes_ , this should have already been taken care of. His people shouldn’t have had to resort to petitioning at the Castle doors.

“Dimitri…” Ingrid said, then paused, sticking her hands on her hips as he looked at her resignation and the concern on her face. “They brought one of the carcasses.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Dimitri was not terribly fond of balls.

A betrayal of his noble upbringing, perhaps, and all those long hours spent in etiquette lessons, learning the proper way to act and dance, which fork to use first and all other such frivolities. Pleasant conversation topics, how best to avoid politics of a sensitive nature while building ties amongst ones subjects. Not just a ball, but a confusing game of political chess in which Dimitri never knew why people couldn’t just say what they meant. 

In another place, in another time, maybe young Prince Dimitri would have grown into honorable King Dimitri, who could have enjoyed balls the way they were meant to be enjoyed. Instead he had a strained smile plastered onto his face, hoping it did not look half as forced as it felt, while he did his best to act the gracious host. Then again, maybe that young Prince Dimitri, safe from harm and war

_ (and that lurking thing inside himself-) _

maybe he too would have been out of depth, wading in deep waters too far from the shore. He had been raised to rule, yes, but the King of Faerghus and only Faerghus. Where Nobility came from a long lines of knights, where fighting was as important as courtly navigation. He was not used to the Nobles of the former Empire of Leicester Alliance, and all their convoluted negotiations, the hidden meanings and intentions behind all their words. . 

Dimitri took a deep breath and again schooled his face into control. He felt a headache coming on.

But the cause of that was more than the ball of course. Of course- because as King there was always something else that needed doing, something more important to take his attention, and try and he might, Dimitri was doing a terrible job keeping his mind in the lavish room with his guests, and not outside to the world beyond. The dead cattle in a wagon, the farmers at the edge of the forest, the ominous blanket of dark trees in the valley that had taken to hiding something destructive within. 

Ingrid was right. He did want to deal with the matters of the farmers and their petition directly, and that was before they’d brought him outside to the stables, where some of his guard were eyeing the wagon wearily, the tarp thrown over the back not hiding the stench, not invulnerable to bloodstains seeping through from the long journey up the road to the castle, where it towered over all else, keeping watch. 

Dimitri did not scare easily, and he did not put stock in superstition. He was long used to being the greatest threat in the room, and whatever wreaked havoc inside his own head often made the real world and its tame-able threats feel paltry in comparison. None of that applied to the thinly veiled terror hiding behind the farmers’ eyes, something no bravado could keep the king from seeing it. And if Dimitri did not believe in monsters in the woods it was irrelevant when the people he was sworn to lead and protect did, when no amount of practiced words in pretty language would change the grim reality of theirs, showing up each morning as the mist burned away in the form of dead cattle in their fields. 

With Ingrid still at his side, Dimitri gave a quick nod and the tarp on the wagon was pulled back. 

He was not often startled these days. 

He supposed, long after the fact, thinking back on the problem at hand instead of suffering through the ball, he had been long overdue to have something push him off balance, tumbling, careening towards the edge of something dark.

Under a lazy swarm of flies, warm from sitting in the sun was what appeared to once have been a cow. All in all it was difficult to say, given the state of the carcass, the clotted blood and torn flesh and Dimitri nearly swayed on his feet with the shock of it. But only for a moment- before he slowly stepped forward. Careful not to breathe in too deep as he got close.

It was only a dead animal. Dimitri had seen far worse. He had  _ done _ far worse to living, breathing people that now lived and breathed no more. He knew the smell of death and old coagulating blood well and there were few injuries or grotesqueries he hadn’t seen on a battlefield- or caused himself. 

His caution, the prickle of his skin and the pinpointed look in his eye as he circled the wagon was not out of unease regarding death, whether human or animal. 

It was the size of the gash marks in the body. It was the near-unrecognizable form it had been left in. Not devoured by a pack of hungry wolves but maimed. Maimed by something bigger. Something that wasn’t killing to eat.

“This happened last night?” Dimitri asked no one in particular, but he saw one of them men from the village nod. Behind him, inconspicuously, Ingrid was covering her nose. She too was not of a delicate constitution and if she’d seen the carcass then called for him, well... Dimitri was not the only one concerned. He turned to address Ingrid directly then.

“Have Gilbert ready to lead a team of knights into the forest  _ tonight _ . If they can’t take it down, I at least want to know what we’re dealing with. This is no hungry wolf.”

“Majesty,” Ingrid said with a bow as he walked away, bothered. No more room for garden parties and witty banter amongst guests in his head. Only a dull ache, a distant throbbing that something was wrong and he didn’t know what. He didn’t fear for the cattle, slaughtered in the quiet of the night. He feared that soon cattle would not be enough for whatever beast was lurking nearby. He feared it might soon develop a taste for a different sort of blood. His fear was rooted not in real world terror, but in the slithering dark of his backbrain, something that should have been contained there. Not spilled out in a wagon for all the world to see.

“Is everything alright, your Majesty?”

Dedue’s voice, low and even, brought Dimitri back to the present. To the ball and the throng of people around him, blissfully ignorant of the crusade he had Gilbert waging in the middle of that lurking forest, just beyond their stretch of the mountainside. 

He took another breath, let the bright room and overflow of chatter wash over him again, to pull him out of his mind where it was so easy to get lost in the maze of himself. It was all very pretty, Dimitri noticed so belatedly, everyone dressed in their finest, the ballroom decorated full of candles and blue flowers, the wide doors leading to the balcony thrown open to an overlook of the gardens (and beyond that the slope of the mountain, the road down to the village, the valley thick and heavy with forest near black at this time of night). Couples wandered in and out for fresh air and a moonlit view. Oblivious to what they could not see from above.

“Apologies Dedue, I’m afraid I’ve had much on my mind tonight.”

“Perhaps a drink, then?” Dedue suggested, “or a dance with one of the fine Ladies..” He knew as well as Dimitri then, where his thoughts were lingering. Dedue had been the first Dimitri told of the dead cattle and the threat in the forest, after leaving Ingrid by the stables. Dedue, who should have been named Dimitri’s top advisor, who he so often went to for aid and council, who  _ should _ have been in Duscur with his people, not here playing the role of Dimitri’s bodyguard. But prejudice ran deep and on more than one occasion Dedue had reminded him that granting him such a high title would only lead to hostility. That things would take time. They had argued about it often, much as one could argue with someone as placid and immovable as Dedue. So a bodyguard he stayed, in name and appearance only, while still serving as Dimitri’s confidante. A steady presence, at his side.

“There are many still waiting for a partner,” Dedue prodded when Dimitri did not reply. His gentle reminder that, no matter the problems of the world and the weight of his duty, the King had best show his guests the utmost hospitality tonight. 

“I... see that Ashe is one without a partner,” Dimitri said, not unkindly. Only a message, a friend to a friend - yes, you see me as I am, but I see you too. Dedue did not blush, ever stoic. But for the first time Dimitri’s smile felt at least tangential to genuine, as he watched his friend blink rapidly, eyes flickering to where he knew Ashe was standing, then back away once again. Sweet, in such a subdued way that Dimitri felt himself warming again, not so hostile towards the celebration around him.

“Allow me a moment's reprieve and some fresh air, and when I come back you can prod me into all the necessary kingly duties,” he gave Dedue’s arm a squeeze, watched as that stone face softened just slightly. “In the meantime you might consider enjoying a dance for yourself before I come back.”

“Indeed,” Dedue said, neither confirmation nor decline, but he let Dimitri wander off- and was thus no doubt enjoying himself immensely as he watched one Noble Lord after another deftly corner the King. For a toast, to meet their daughters, to introduce their wives or casually mention the importance of their territories, flaunting titles in ways that claimed they had nothing else to offer in terms of personal achievements. Varley, Ordelia, Aegir, one after another. Dukes and Margraves and Counts and all their Lords and Ladies beyond. Margrave Edmund, caught loudly discussing the availability of his daughter for marriage with the head of Gloucester, quickly abandoned one opportunistic scramble for another, calling to the King in greeting, insisting he have a dance with Marianne.

_ Where has that girl gone to anyway? _

What should have been a walk across the room turned into 3 dances, multiple introductions and impromptu toasts to his health and long lasting rule, and Dimitri decided he much preferred spending these events overlooking his guests from the top of the room with Dedue, where everyone was either too respectful or too intimidated to come approach him directly of their own accord. 

It took no small amount of maneuvering, and polite excuses to finally start slipping through everyone’s grasping hands.  _ He was King. He should not fight his own people so _ . And if Dimitri did not break from the crowd he was certain his head would simply start spinning until it detached from his body. 

Reaching the cool air outside was like surfacing from under the sea. He could breath. He could think. Just a few short steps away he would be back in the throngs of a ball in full swing, but through the threshold here the conversations and music were muffled and diffused. There was enough light pouring out onto the balcony to see by, but so were there stars in the sky and the great dark shadows of mountains and trees before him. His land. His responsibility. But out here those words didn’t carry the same cumbersome weight as they did inside, only the reminder that what he did, he did not do for himself but for others.

It took him entirely too long to notice that he was not alone. 

She noticed him too, in that same moment, in a glance across the space between them from one stretch of the balcony to the other. Marianne Von Edmund. In another modestly pretty dress of long sleeves and full skirts and a high lace neckline, hands clasped together in front of her. Dimitri had to wonder if she was cold, not used to the northern weather with winter’s chill not yet gone. He had the urge to unclasp his cape and throw it over her shoulders for warmth, but- no. No, that would invite idle talk and speculations with Marianne at the center of every suspicious eye and he would do well to keep his distance. No good deed went without willful misinterpretation and subsequent punishment. 

“My apologies,” Dimitri said with a swift bow when he found his tongue again and realized he’d been caught staring. “I seem to be intruding.” 

“Oh! Oh no-not at all,” Marianne gave a flustered bow back, refraining from stating the obvious- he was the King, this was his castle and his ball and he could intrude on nothing and no one, so far as most here were concerned. She was flustered but not flushed, pale face round and sweet as the moon that hung low in the sky behind her. “I only... needed a moment of quiet.”

_ Me too _ , he thought, but from the way the Margrave spoke of her suspicious absence through the night, perhaps Lady Marianne had needed more than just a moment. 

“It is a lovely night for it,” Dimitri said, taking one step forward and then another. He found his peace was not disturbed by present company. If anything, he felt more at peace now than he had through the rest of the ball. With this quiet girl who seemed more prone to run from Noble company rather than accept it. “The sky is clear, and there is a full moon as well.”

“No,” Marianne said, too fast, then tried to choke back the word and the harshness with which it came out, and  _ now _ her face was coloring red, so much as Dimitri could see when she was looking down at her feet. One did not tell a King  _ no _ .

“That is- I only meant.... it-it’s not full tonight. The moon is waning.”

“... So it is,” Dimitri said, curious in a way that had him charmed, because she was correct. He could see it now, the slip of a shadow creeping in from the side. Not a full moon at all.

He thought Marianne might leave when, make up some excuse and flee from further embarrassment, as most did when they misspoke in front of him, as if Dimtri were not so gravely flawed and imperfect as the rest himself. But she did not. She kept staring into the dark at the world beyond and Dimitri found he did not mind the silence. 

He was at risk of staying on the balcony all night seeking reprieve. But Kings did not offer their esteemed guests such poor company, particularly not fine Ladies left alone in his presence. 

“I do believe your father has been looking for you.”

A frown. A glance in his direction then eyes quickly shooting back down. Fingers twisting in front of her, hands clasped together. But Marianne said nothing. 

“He... seemed hopeful that you might be willing to dance with some of the gentlemen here tonight. Perhaps... perhaps even myself.” Dimitri wasn’t even sure why he had said it- regretting the implications of his words when he watched her face twist, and Marianne quickly gave him yet another hurried bow. 

“I’m sorry, please you must allow me to apologize on his behalf.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Dimitri insisted, voice gentle, but Marianne could only shake her head in denial.

“No he’s... my father, he wishes to see me wed. Wed to someone else of status. He has always held ambitions to advance his standing as Margrave.” A space of silence hung between them from her awkward admittance. It was gauche, maybe, to imply such a thing so plainly, no matter how often it was done among nobles, but her honesty after a day of sidestepped honesty and hidden ambitions was nothing if not welcome. Dimitri could not help but be thankful for it. And for her own seeming disinterest in the games so many of the other nobles were busy playing.

“He’s not a bad man,” Marianne said, quiet and hesitant, filling in the gaps of Dimitri’s silence in with all the wrong assumptions. “He means well, even if he hopes for more influence. And he only wants to see me married.”

“What do you want?” Dimitri asked. Plain and simple. Because this girl, this young lady, beautiful and solitary, was caught up in political games while she hid herself away. Obvious then, that she had no say in the matter, and bad man or not her father would pair her with whatever husband might grant the Edmund territory some gain. But what of Marianne. 

“I’m sorry?” She asked, as if stunned he might seek her opinion on the matter, uncertain if he had heard the right of it. “I… I will be wed to whoever he chooses.”

“No, Marianne, what do you  _ want? _ ” Dimitri asked her again. Pointed, but not cruel, simply seeking truth. “Marriage is your fathers’ plan for your fathers’ gain. But what of your own wishes? What do you want?”

“I…” She did not look at Dimitri. She looked up at the moon, hung in darkness and in the company of stars. “I only wish to live a quiet life. One where I might not be a burden.”

Dimitri opened his mouth to speak.

“ _ There _ you are.” Felix stood in the doorway to the balcony, and with him came back the flood of laughter and chatter from inside that Dimitri had all but blocked out. He would get an earful later from Felix, about the King running off from his responsibilities, how he really ought to know better. He could see it in the scowl on Felix’s face. Then again, the Duke of Fraldarius had no more love of balls than he did. More than likely Felix had been fielding more attention from the Nobles in Dimitri’s absence than he would normally have to deal with. 

“Excuse me,” Marianne said, quick as the final bow she offered him, before scurrying back inside. Felix hardly paid her any mind, choosing instead to admonish Dimitri for disappearing when his presence was  _ so highly in demand. _

Dimitri apologized. He went back inside with Felix, he played through all the motions and fake smiles, even had another with a few of the young ladies. 

Across the room he watched as Marianne, stiff and uncomfortable, not a smile in sight, was paired off from one partner to another, carrying out duties of her own. 

* * *

Everything Dimitri did, he did for the sake of others.

Duty. Atonement. Forgiveness that he would never reach or deserve, but giving every part of himself was one way to offer penitence and lessen the guilt. A gift to give to his people so that as King, he might be remembered as something greater than his mistakes. And greater than the monster that still lurked within. 

A King’s marriage was not for himself. It was for his people, for his bloodline, if fate and Crests were believed to still have any merit in this world. Dimitri’s marriage would not be for love. Long had he known this. 

And so, would it not be fitting of him to use this marriage as a gift, to help someone else? 

There had been a growing sense of trepidation for Marianne on his behalf, that melancholy girl so swept up in the plans of those around her. With every dance and every comment from her father, Dimitri knew she would not find peace in whatever plans he had for her. Not with the young noblemen she danced with, ambitions, driven towards their own goals. She would be miserable. Her father should have seen it for himself, but no one spoke up for her and she would not speak for herself. Only kept her eyes down and her mouth shut while she was touted around the room like a prized pony, dancing, and dancing, and dancing. 

He turned the thoughts over in his mind, again and again, long after the night had ended and he lay awake in the dark. He would help her and help himself. No more discussion of marriage to the King, one less option taken off the table for those that would use their daughters to gain prestige by association. Was this a selfish plan then? Perhaps. But he would not make demands or tell someone else what to choose. Marianne could decide her own fate, in this small matter, if nothing else.

Dimitri was not to be rid of his guests so quickly, after only one day and one ball. There were frivolous entertainments to be offered for the next few days, as well as meetings with those from across the continent whom he did not normally have a chance to see. A correspondence of letters could only pass so much information, and there were no small amount of grievances to be aired with the King. 

He spent the morning after the ball in his office, welcoming one visitor after another, watching the sun change, streaming through the broad windows. The only concerning news was that Gilbert and the knights had found  _ nothing _ ; no dens, no tracks, none of the telltale signs a creature so big should have left behind. It was gnawing at him. Enough to make Dimitri rub at his temples, so that when Dedue came to check on his schedule, he instead stared Dimitri down for a long and silent moment, before saying, “Tea?”

“Yes, please,” Dimitri said with a sigh, leaning back. But he hesitated a moment. “Dedue, I… think I shall take my tea outside.” A perfunctory nod, of course, hardly a difficult task to allow the King a moment’s peace now that Faerghus’s winter had broken. But Dimitri stopped him again, just as Dedue turned to leave.

“And I think… I would like to ask the Lady Marianne Von Edmund to join me.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on twit @nonethelasttime


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